Page 3 of My Cowboy Valentine

RED

“Play my cards, right?” I ask in biting tones. I shouldn’t be surprised by Billy’s behavior. This has always been the pattern with my baby brother and me. Despite having two hardworking, uber-functional parents and one wildly overachieving older sister, Billy is the epitome of irresponsibility.

“Geez, sis, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” He laughs in a laidback sort of way like nothing really matters.

I press my hand firmly over my mouth, working hard not to shriek. Once I’ve reigned in my inner banshee, I ask, “Are you ever going to grow up or take responsibility for your actions?”

“I want to see you last five minutes in a rodeo arena,” he snorts.

“I don’t have to escape to the rodeo ring to live out little boy fantasies in a defunct sport that capitalizes on exploiting animals. I’m a grown-ass woman functioning in the real world. More than the real world—New York City.”

“In an industry that profits from killing and skinning animals. I can say with firm conviction that no cow or calf has died because of my roping. But damn, girl, that winter collection of yours nearly cleaned out the mink farming industry.”

I roll my eyes at his obvious exaggeration. He only knows about this because of the bad press the show garnered when PETA protested, throwing red paint on a few attendees. Otherwise, the man never keeps up with anything in my career or personal life.

Scanning the article, I read the key points to Billy. “Jameson & Cash will be integrally linked with the larger Red brand… Rumors continue to swirl around the unexpected engagement between Red owner Lesley Cash and her much younger potential business partner Ronald Jameson.”

I spit out the last name, snarling. I may dislike Billy’s predilection to irresponsibility. But Ronald Jameson is King Fuck Up. A big-headed rodeo star, swimming in a constant barrage of skanky buckle bunnies. Yuck! His well-earned nickname reflects a lifetime of mischief, general orneriness, and irresponsibility. Drinking, partying, womanizing, fistfighting, you name it…

And all while looking so goddamn gorgeous, I can’t stand to be in the same room with him. Because I melt every time. What he does to my heart and body when I’m around him is inexcusable and uncontrollable. He’s human whiskey...a road to ruin paved with bad decisions and morning-after regrets. Thankfully, I’ve managed to avoid the last part.

Fortunately, I see Rowdy very rarely these days, and we avoid each other like the plague when we do. But he’s always in attendance at family functions, thanks to my parents more or less adopting him when he was nine, and I was seventeen. I’ve always wondered if it was their way of replacing me when I announced my move to New York and entrance into design school…

Billy and Rowdy going into rodeoing pleased my parents to no end. But me climbing the ranks of the fashion industry? Not only do they fail to understand a thing about it, but they feelbetrayed I chose uppity big-city living over moldering away in the podunk cowtown my ancestors built.

Panic colors my voice. “Unexpected engagement? To Rowdy? No, no, no…” I shake my head, unable to find bigger words. “No!”

Billy laughs. “You can thank me later.”

“Thank you?” I scream before catching myself.

“Don’t they say all publicity is good publicity?” he counters with a thin laugh.

“You’re a dumbass. Oh my God!”

“Calm down, sis?—”

I inhale loudly, opening my mouth to launch into a diatribe, but he cuts me off.

“Before you freak out further, will you let me explain why this article could be the best thing that ever happened to Red?”

Thank God he’s in the Caribbean because murder’s on my mind…

“Rowdy and I have put a ton of work into the Jameson & Cash brand. We’ve invested our capital into defining and refining it, identifying a market, hiring a design team to bring our products to life, and creating garments and accessories that will be fit tested for the first time tomorrow. It’s a solid line with the backing of some generous local investors, and we’d like to see it grow. But there’s always the prejudice of having a rural brand in a big-city market like the fashion industry… That’s where you come in. We’ve got a handful of big-name investors about to bite. But they require assurances we can play with the big boys in New York, Paris, and Milan. You can provide these assurances, Lesley. Rowdy’s busy obtaining materials, lining up manufacturers, and getting our ducks in a row. The man’s a fiend when it comes to working hard. He reminds me a lot of you, actually…”

I roll my eyes. My brother has to be drunker than he sounds.

“It’s time for you and Rowdy to set aside whatever petty personal differences you have and do something for the greater good of your two brands.”

“Petty personal differences?” I snuff. “I don’t fucking like him. End of story.” Not only did he replace me in the family, as far as I can tell, but he’s everything that made me flee Alpha Ridge Creek in the first place, a big, dumb redneck who leads with his belt buckle and dick.

“I know we played a lot of practical jokes on you when you were a teenager, but how long are you going to hold a grudge against him?”

“Forever. Duh!”

“I forgot how ridiculous you can be sometimes…”

“You and Rowdy are baby boys who don’t know the first thing about the fashion industry. I told you this when you first pitched Jameson & Cash, and I’m telling you again. You do not have the talent or the balls to succeed in this industry. As hard as I have worked and as far as I have come over the past decade, I refuse to hitch my luxury yacht to your sinking lifeboat.”

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